


Snow and Leather Gloves

by popyourwhitecollarsup



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:51:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popyourwhitecollarsup/pseuds/popyourwhitecollarsup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow falls on Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow and Leather Gloves

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted from [this](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/40997019601/we-dont-ever-really-see-fanfic-of-sherlock-and) post!

Sherlock was still in his coat when John arrived back from the shop, bag in hand. He thought little of it as 221B was freezing, the heating hadn’t been on since yesterday. They’d been out on a case. 

Snow was starting to fall under the orange streetlamps outside.

“Tea?” John asked, pulling milk and sausages out of the white plastic bag and finding places for them in the fridge. There was no response, so John made two cups anyway and set them down on the dining table.

As he sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock, he pulled open his laptop and noticed that his eyes were closed, his breathing soft and steady, and that he was asleep. Not wanting to disturb the long awaited peace, he typed up the case as quietly as he could, only stopping to sip his tea and see how thick the snow was falling outside.

About an hour later, he clicked ‘Submit’ on the screen and leant back, exhaling. Sherlock, who had remained still the entire time, spoke softly.

“What have you called this one?”

“Horsing Around.”

Sherlock grinned from the corner of his mouth, his eyes unopened. John shut down his laptop and stood up.

“Bed for me, I think” he announced. It wasn’t until he got to the doorway leading to the stairs that the creak of a floorboard could be heard. Sherlock paced towards him, icy eyes ablaze, coat, gloves and scarf still on, took John by the hand and kissed him, passionately.

Pressed against the door frame, John kissed back, squeezing the hand and committing each sweet second to memory. Warm leather from the other hand touched his face tentatively. Sherlock inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of home, the intense yearning that made him tingle from head to toe. He could feel John’s heart racing through the layers of fabric and a gentle sucking on his lower lip. Sherlock pulled closer until both his hands were behind John’s ears and their knees were touching.

~~

What seemed like minutes later, but was probably hours, Sherlock broke away. He leant over, resting a hand on the wall by John’s head, his hair falling over his face. He rubbed his reddened lips together.

John let go of the clutch he had on Sherlock’s coat and met his eyes. He pondered for a minute before breaking the silence.

“Are you coming?”

Sherlock shook his head and averted his eyes downwards. John swallowed and made his way up the dark stairway, stopping only to glance at the silhouette he was leaving behind.

~~

John stirred late the next morning after a good nights’ rest. He quickly realised that Sherlock wasn’t in the flat, and sat down on his comfy chair with a cup of tea and a newspaper that Mrs. Hudson had brought in.

A loud THUD against the window made John leap out of his spot, spill his tea all over the carpet and crouch under the coffee table, his army training kicking in.

In the silence that followed, John poked his head up and peered out the window.

Stood on the pavement in Baker Street below, Sherlock stood in a good few inches of snow, a grin on his face and a snowball in his right hand.  
John sighed and shook his head disapprovingly, but couldn’t help smiling when he heard Sherlock’s gleeful, booming laugh.

He put on his coat and headed straight for the door, tea staining the carpet.


End file.
